Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound of the kitchen clock marking the seconds boomed in the dreadful silence of the kitchen. Abby pulled a chair out from the table, then shoved it in again just to hear the noise.
She tried turning on the radio, but only static buzzed into the silence, so she switched it off.
Another check of the clock. Two-twelve.
She plopped down at the table and flipped through the Wolf Island Gazette. The words ran together. All she could think about was Victor Morgan’s presence on the island and Devlin being in danger.
A gust of wind whistled softly against the castle walls. Thunder rolled around overhead and set her teeth on edge, while a hiss at the windows told her rain had started to fall.
Another soggy night. But maybe the rain would bring Dev back inside sooner. Inside their home.
Home. Abby smiled slightly. Since when had she started thinking of the castle as her home?
She’d only been here a few days, and already she’d grown used to the place. It was so different from her airy little cottage by the lake. And yet, here she felt more rooted in her life than she did back in England.
She knew why.
Devlin.
Abby rose from the table and paced over to the fireplace. She rubbed an absent hand over the kitten’s belly. He stretched out his legs, opened his eyes to slits for just a second, then closed them again and went contentedly back to sleep.
Had she ever felt such contentment?
Not until she came here. And the feeling had arrived unexpectedly. Abby poked at the fire, sending a dance of sparks up the chimney. She walked back across the kitchen to the stove to set the kettle on to boil for tea.
She had just started searching through the cabinets for the tea when the lights flickered once and then winked out. Her heart did a mad pitch in her chest. Shadows wavered over the walls from the dwindling fire.
Outside, the wind blew harder and the rain picked up. Where was Devlin? What was taking so long? She squinted at the clock to try and make out the time, but couldn’t see the dial in the darkness.
Okay. Pull yourself together.
The first thing she needed to do was look for a flashlight or a stash of candles. She pulled open drawers and cabinets and rummaged through them.
Finally, she located the stub of a candle and a box of matches. She lit the wick, and when the flame cast a small circle of light, she felt marginally better. Abby set the candle on the table and prepared to wait. The clock continued to tick, the wind to howl, and the rain to fall. But still no Devlin.
A squeak, followed by a bump.
Abby stiffened her spine and turned her head toward the kitchen door. She’d never been a particularly brave person, but her experiences since she’d arrived on the island had taught her that she was more courageous than she’d ever thought possible.
Thud.
Her heart tripped in her chest before she realized the probable source of the noise. Suddenly she wasn’t afraid anymore. Otis. He probably couldn’t sleep.
Scrape.
Then she heard them. Chimes tinkled in the hallway outside the kitchen. Abby swallowed hard. The authorities had searched the castle. Devlin had told her all the castle’s windows and doors were secure. The effigy had been left outside the kitchen door, so whoever left it had not been inside the castle.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Rustle.
She heard a metallic sound, like metal hitting stone. Her heart slid into her throat. The sound was very similar to the one they’d heard the night Devlin found the rabbit in the library.
Abby slipped off her shoes and crept toward the kitchen door in her stocking feet. Footsteps scraped against the stone floor, the sound echoing off the walls. The steps sounded light as they moved closer and closer. She backed up against the kitchen counter and waited. The footsteps halted right outside the door. A beam of light shone under the door and spread out onto the floor of the kitchen. Abby snuffed out the candle.
The door opened, and Abby saw a figure step into the room but couldn’t tell for sure if it was Otis. If she called out his name and it wasn’t him ...
She set her shoulders even as fear tapped its way up her spine. Abby reached behind her to the wooden block that held the kitchen knives and withdrew one as quietly as she could. She raised the knife above her head, ready to strike if the person attacked.
The door closed at the person’s back. The figure swung the flashlight’s beam around the kitchen until it landed on a door beside the fireplace. The person shuffled across the room, opened the door, and went inside, the light from the flashlight casting an eerie glow within. She heard a squeak, then a click.
The lights blazed back on in the kitchen. She had to do something, but she refused to run.
She couldn’t run. What about Devlin?
Abby rushed across the kitchen with the knife in her hand. She halted outside the door the figure had disappeared into. Otis stepped through the door. He fixed his black eyes first on the knife she held in her hand and then on her face. “You lookin’ for a fight, chère?”
Abby laughed nervously and lowered her hand. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
Otis closed the pantry door at his back.
Abby laid the knife on the table. “I might have used that knife, if you hadn’t turned on the lights.”
He was dressed in a worn robe and slippers. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Abby smiled while her heart settled back into her chest. “I thought you were trying to frighten me.”
Otis laughed. “Now, why would I do something like that? I just came down to check the fuse box. I didn’t want Mr. Dev coming inside to a dark house.”
Lightning flashed outside, and another crash of thunder boomed.
Where was Devlin?
Otis walked around her and across the kitchen. “Might as well put on a pot of coffee.”
After Abby convinced Otis to go back to bed again, she poured herself a cup of tea and waited. In a few minutes, the door flew open and Dev strode in, dripping wet. Abby smiled. He was home. His gaze settled on her. “Abby, you waited up for me.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s Otis?”
“I sent him up to bed.”
Devlin frowned. “He was supposed to stay with you until I got back.”
He was worried about her. “If it makes you feel better, he went reluctantly, objecting all the way.”
Devlin shrugged out of his coat and hung it by the door. “I’ll have to talk to him about who’s working for whom. That fresh coffee I smell?”
“Yes. Otis made it.”
He winked at her as he walked to the stove and she felt that slow melt down.
Abby swept her gaze over him. He looked tired, and the worry was still in his eyes. She wanted to cuddle him, give him a long kiss, and fall asleep in his arms. But that would have to wait. He poured himself some coffee and flopped into a chair at the table.
“Where’s Sheriff Dutton?”
He reached out and took Abby’s hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Went home to bed.”
“Did everything look okay?”
“Yeah. All the doors and windows appeared secure -- at least the ones we could inspect at ground level. Everything looked normal, but Victor’s gotten pretty good at covering his tracks and slipping away unnoticed.”
Abby fixed her gaze on him. “You said you would explain when you got back. I want you to tell me everything, including the truth about Alice.”
Devlin looked at Abby with anguish in his eyes. “She was Emily Good’s daughter. Victor Morgan raped and murdered her.” He lowered his head and stared at their entwined fingers. “I found her.” His voice was so soft, Abby almost didn’t hear him.
She felt ice spread through her stomach at Devlin’s words. Abby squeezed Devlin’s hand, then lifted his chin with her other hand so he had to look her in the eye. Anger and devastation burned in his gaze. But how else should he feel? “Dev, I can’t imagine what you’ve
been through, but you need to tell me the whole story. Only then can you be free from the past.”
Devlin let go of her hand, shoved back from the table, and paced over to the fireplace. Sam woke, blinked his eyes at him, and meowed softly. Devlin reached over and stroked the kitten’s soft head. Abby wanted him to turn and look at her. She wanted him to see that she didn’t care who or what his father was.
She would never regret allowing him to touch her, to make love to her, because she loved him.
Devlin turned his head and gazed at Abby. “I wanted to protect you from all the ugliness, the poison he’s spread around. I’ll never be free of the past. Can’t you see that?” Abby shot up from the table and faced him. “No, I can’t! The only person who is keeping you from being free of the past is you. Until you allow yourself to let it go, it will be a noose around your neck.”
“Damn it, Abby. He’s a part of me!”
Abby pushed back her chair and strode to his side. She laid a hand on his arm. “Biologically, maybe, but that’s all.”
He jerked his arm away as if he couldn’t bear her touch. She felt a stab of hurt slice into her heart, but she pushed it aside. Abby needed him to look at her, really look at her. Only then would she know his true feelings. She touched her fingers to the side of his face and shifted his eyes to hers.
There was shame in his eyes and, dear God, love on his face. “Why did you pull away?”
He lifted a hand and rested his palm on her cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, honey. It’s me. Come, I want to show you something.”
He didn’t wait to see if she followed him, just barreled through the door and walked purposefully down the hall.
He continued past a sitting room, then turned left at the end of the hall and switched on a light. Paintings hung on both sides of a long gallery. He walked about halfway down and stopped in front of a portrait. Abby stared at it.
“See some resemblance?”
Devlin’s mother sat by her husband with her hand resting on his arm. She saw parts of Devlin in both their faces, but particularly his father.
They made a gorgeous couple. How could two people that much in love journey to such a sad and violent parting? There were other portraits there. As they moved back in time, the paint was a little cracked and the manner of dress more old-fashioned, the expressions on their faces a bit more staid.
There was a portrait of Devlin’s mother quite different from the one on the stairs. This was a very young Valerie, holding a bouquet of white flowers, her eyes filled with happiness, a blissful smile on her lips.
She sat on an iron bench in front of an arbor with roses clamoring over it. From a shepherd’s hook by the arbor hung a set of chimes. “Was this painted just before or after she and your father were married?”
“Right before.” He paused a moment, as if some painful thought floated through his mind. He inhaled a deep breath, then let it out in a shuddering sigh. “My grandparents were thrilled when they became engaged.”
It seemed to Abby that Devlin’s face aged considerably before her eyes. His shoulders hunched, and the vital, strong man she’d grown to love seemed to have changed into an older man.
“When I was born, my mother left the island. My grandparents tried to see Victor once, but it was a mistake. My father had completely lost his grip on reality. They tried talking to him, but ... they told me he looked at them with such hatred.” Devlin’s voice broke, and Abby’s heart along with it. “He tried to attack them, and one of the guards pulled him off.
Devlin paused and heaved a deep breath before continuing. “He escaped once and murdered Alice. I found her, with the chimes twisted around her neck.”
“Oh, Dev, I’m so sorry.” Sympathy and compassion for everything he’d endured flowed through her. She looked up at him and held his face between her hands. His gaze softened and warmed as he looked at her. So here was another reason why Devlin was so conflicted about being a good father, about women, about love and marriage. Anyone would be, under the circumstances. But it made her love him all the more.
And she did love him.
Abby touched a hand to her belly and suddenly wished with everything that was in her that she was carrying his child. But would that child end up with mental illness? Would she and Devlin have to watch the son or daughter they had created suffer?
“Remember that whatever Victor did, it has nothing to do with you.”
For an instant, an expression of hope swept over his face; then it was gone. “Yes, it does.” He gripped her shoulders. “I wanted to take care of this myself. Don’t you get it?” he ground out.
“I get it just fine. And you don’t need to shout. Why have you insisted on trying to hide it?”
Didn’t Devlin understand? Didn’t he have a clue at all? How could he not know? She loved him. So what if there had been whispers, gossip, and questions in people’s eyes? Couldn’t he see that none of that mattered to her?
“Because I’m ashamed.” Devlin spat out the words. “I would give my life if I could change the fact that Victor Morgan is my father.” Abby wanted to touch him, hold him, soothe away his hurt. “I didn’t want anyone else hurt by him. I wanted to rid this island of him once and for all because only then might I be able to justify my being here.”
Anger swept through Abby. “Now you’ve made me mad.” She stepped closer to Dev. “Justify your existence? What on earth do you mean?”
Devlin smiled coldly.
Abby felt the tension grind along her spine and tighten the muscles in her neck.
“Don’t you get it? The only reason I’m here is because my mother was raped. Why do you think I started the research company? I thought if I could help heal people, it might make up for some of the things he’s done.”
Abby poked her finger in the middle of Devlin’s chest. “Let me tell you something, mister. It’s insulting to me that you think you have to make up for whatever Victor did. He’s responsible for his own actions. Not you. It’s high time you got that through your thick skull.”
Abby paced to the kitchen door, then turned back around. “I want you to listen, and listen well. I love you. Period. I’m sure your grandparents loved Victor as much as they could love a son. It must have hurt like hell when his mind began to twist and there was nothing anybody could do to stop it. But that has nothing to do with you. What do you suggest they should have done with you? Send you off to a kid’s home somewhere -- or just tie your hands and feet together and drop you into the ocean?”
“It has everything to do with me. I’m his son.”
Abby shook her head. “So what?” She nearly shouted with frustration. “You aren’t responsible for what he became or the crimes he committed, any more than I am. Nobody is, except Victor. Why can’t you see that?” Suddenly, the anger drained out of her. “I’m disappointed in you.”
Devlin looked as though her words had just kicked his insides out.
“You excelled at school. You went off to college, got your degree, and started a private research lab. You took Otis in and gave him a home. You brought this island’s economy back to life and gave people jobs. But most of all, you gave them hope. And you can stand here and tell me that it might have been better if you’d never existed. Who the hell do you think you are saying something like that to me? It breaks my heart.”
Devlin looked at her. She loved him so much. She hoped to God that he loved her.
His shoulders slumped, and a faint smile played over his lips. “When I was about eight, Billy Thompson, the village bully, started picking on me. I didn’t want to fight him because I didn’t want anyone comparing my actions to Victor’s. So my grandmother gave me some of those small cans of spinach and told me to be like Popeye.”
Devlin laughed and shook his head. “Of course, I had to strut around and show everybody. Stupid, because the kids made fun of me, and then the only thing to do was give Billy Thompson an ass-whooping.” He turned toward Abby. “You’re right.” Abby felt a knot in he
r stomach ease. “It’s time for me to move on. I’m sorry.” Devlin wrapped his arms around her and clung. “I do deserve to be here.”
“It’s about time you said it.”
Devlin and Abby looked over at Otis. He stood in the doorway, with a smug look on his face. “You’ve been wallowing in self-pity long enough. You done now?”
Devlin chuckled. “Yeah, I’m done.”
“Good. You’re dead on your feet. Get some shut-eye, and we’ll figure out how to trap Victor later. Between the three of us, we ought to be able to come up with something.”
Chapter Twelve
“I think the rain has stopped.” Abby pulled open the windows in Devlin’s room to let the breeze dance in. She settled on the window seat and gazed up at the moon, white as polished marble.
Devlin walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s go to bed.” He wanted to hold her, touch her through the rest of the night.
“In a minute. I just want to relax a little first.”
He massaged her shoulders, easing the tension from her muscles. Abby’s head fell back as she groaned. “That feels incredible. Too bad we can’t see the ocean from here.”
“We can. Come with me.”
When they reached the small balcony at the top of one of the castle’s turrets, only a few shredded clouds remained from the storm. The moon’s rays watered down onto the ocean, creating pinpoints of light on the waves.
Devlin heard the soft tinkling of chimes drifting up toward the castle on a current of wind from the village.
Abby touched Devlin’s arm. “Dev, do you hear that? I don’t believe in ghosts, but isn’t it romantic to think that it’s Alice looking for her lost love?”
The sound of the chimes faded, and Abby sighed. She turned and looked up at him. As he gazed back at her, he felt the most profound sense of peace. He’d truly let go of his past.
“I think it’s probably someone playing a trick, but on the website, make sure the legend about Alice takes center stage.”
Devlin brushed some hair from her face. His. The word resounded through his brain. “Maybe we’ll start a moonlit cruise. It’ll add to the romance.”
Wolf Island Page 15
